


Lions in the Sand

by Auber_Gine_Dreams



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Background Relationships, Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Explicit Sexual Content, Gun Violence, Lapdance, M/M, Mentions of semi public sex, Mob Violence, Vampires, With A Twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28819092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auber_Gine_Dreams/pseuds/Auber_Gine_Dreams
Summary: “Maybe I’m getting old,” Minghao says. He laughs under his breath. “I’m tired, Mingyu. I’ve seen the world three times over. I want to settle down. I’m ready for something permanent. Aren’t you?”He looks into Mingyu’s eyes and his heart squeezes in his chest. If he could speak over the ache, he would say something like, more than anything. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.But he doesn’t.---Vegas. 1979. They don't call it Sin City for nothing.
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45
Collections: Haggly 2: The Remix





	Lions in the Sand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nasaplates](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasaplates/gifts).
  * Inspired by [forever younger, growing older](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19104853) by [nasaplates](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasaplates/pseuds/nasaplates). 



> Riley, first of all I love you so much you are my best friend on this EARTH we know this! Writing in this universe was basically destined, and when I had the chance to do it I had to take it!
> 
> I can also now say, yes there are so many THROAM references in here. If you expected me to write a fic set in the 70s and NOT talk about THROAM then idk what to tell you.
> 
> I have a [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7dGlvzx8GZZGcRiXDXlWWK?si=QO_68lTfQQ-cU8qzVGksOA) for this if you want to suffer Big Time.
> 
> This fic is a remix of [forever younger, growing older](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19104853). This is a prequel of sorts, so the original isn't a required read but I really hope you check it out <3

_lay like lions in the sand_ _  
_ _one day we’ll settle in seattle_

Their stories never end, they just reset. There are lots of stories for Mingyu to think back on. He’s lived so many lives at this point it’s hard to keep track of them all, but he always wanders back to 1979. Minghao. Yixing. The beginning of the end. Well, as much as anything can end for them.

It’s the summer of 1979, and Mingyu is covered in glitter, dancing on a fucking _yacht_ that some rock star owns off the coast of Los Angeles. What’s his name...Jayder? Jagner? Mingyu never bothered to learn it. Minghao is here, too, bell-bottom jeans and paisley printed shirt that should be hideous but instead looks amazing. His hair is long and dark, he’s got a bandana tied around his head. He has never been more beautiful.

Well, that’s not entirely true. There has never been a time Mingyu hasn’t thought Minghao was beautiful. Not even the first time, so long ago now it barely matters, when Minghao cradled his bloody body on a battlefield and held his wrist to his mouth and gave him the terrible gift of immortality. 

Mingyu has been trying to make his way over to Minghao for what feels like hours, the sun beating down, waves lapping at the ship. He’s been dancing with Yibo for a while but he hasn’t thought about anything except how Minghao’s skin shines like gold, sparkling in the sun. He’s radiant, and Mingyu wants to lick the summer sun from his skin. 

When he finally makes it to the bow, Minghao has pulled out a sketch book. He’s staring out at the sea, the tips of his fingers covered in charcoal. He doesn’t look at Mingyu, but his shoulders relax at his presence. 

“How long have you been in Los Angeles?” he asks, eyes still on the sea. His fingers are motionless on the paper.

Mingyu sits down next to him. Their knees are almost touching, and Mingyu wants to close the space, those centimeters, those miles, those years. He’s never been good at this part. 

“Not long,” he answers. “Two years, maybe? Jaehyun and Seokmin roped me into sticking around in ‘77.” He glances at Minghao’s profile. “What about you?”

Minghao shrugs, finally turning to look at him. “Prohibition, I think. Junhui and I did a stint in New York before we came out West.”

Junhui. Of course. Mingyu tries to keep his face neutral. He loves Junhui, of course he does. They have to stick together. When you spend centuries with someone it’s impossible not to love them. It’s impossible not to hate them, either. 

“We found Wonwoo, and, well, they convinced me to stay.” Minghao gives him a wry smile. 

They’re quiet for a while. The party is loud behind them. There’s a record playing, some groovy jazz number. Mingyu has to fight the urge to ask Minghao to dance with him. Everything between them is the kind of easy that comes with work and blood and grit. Mingyu can taste the centuries on his tongue.

“I met someone,” Minghao says in a way that makes Mingyu’s stomach drop, sick and heavy. He tries to shake it off, but Minghao notices before he can work his face into something presentable. “Not like that. He’s got an outfit in Vegas. Said there’s a booming tourist market there.”

“Outfit? Doesn’t sound like good news,” Mingyu murmurs. Minghao rolls his eyes. 

“I think we can settle down there.” His eyes shine in the sun. Golden promise for golden days. “I think we can finally have something permanent.”

“Isn’t it too risky?” Mingyu asks. “Isn’t that why we keep moving? People will get suspicious if we stay too long.”

Minghao sighs. His fingers find the charcoal and he sketches without looking at the page. He’s drawing the landscape, dark instead of the blazing sun glittering off the water. 

“Maybe I’m getting old,” Minghao says. He laughs under his breath. “I’m tired, Mingyu. I’ve seen the world three times over. I want to settle down. I’m _ready_ for something permanent. Aren’t you?”

He looks into Mingyu’s eyes and his heart squeezes in his chest. If he could speak over the ache, he would say something like, _more than anything. It’s all I’ve ever wanted_.

But he doesn’t. 

✿✿✿

In stories like these it’s never really the ending that’s important. It’s not the beginning either. It’s the forgettable, unimportant details in the middle. Like the way Minghao’s skin glitters in the Los Angeles sun, the way he glows in the bright Vegas lights. 

They’re laying in bed, Minghao’s hand pressed against his heart. Old money buys anything you want, including a penthouse suite in the nicest casino in Vegas. There’s a bite mark on the side of Minghao’s neck, two neat punctures, faint lines of blood dried like tear tracks. By the morning it will be gone. Mingyu wishes, desperately, to take a picture of it. He wants a record, something more between them than centuries only they know about. _Something permanent_. It’s a selfish thing to want. A dangerous thing.

“Are you sure you want to put your trust in Yixing?” Mingyu asks. Minghao doesn’t move his head from Mingyu’s arm.

“People like him care about money and power. We can give him both of those things. It’s just business. We’ll be fine.” 

In the morning they will move into a sprawling mansion on a frankly obscene amount of land. All over the world, never staying too long in one place or keeping the same name too long, and suddenly they will all be together. Mingyu can’t remember if they have ever all been together. The ‘97s tend to stick together, but the others...well, it’s never been safe, is all.

“What were you doing before this?” Minghao asks. His hand rubs across Mingyu’s chest lazily.

“Keeping Jaehyun out of trouble,” Mingyu says. It’s half of the truth. Minghao knows it, too. He pushes Mingyu’s shoulder with a huff. “We followed some band around the country. We met up with Seokmin. Twice.”

“You met Seokmin twice and you couldn’t be bothered to find me?” Minghao asks.

More of those unimportant details. If Minghao asks him the name of the band he won’t be able to tell him. The Chasers, maybe? Or something about Bourbon? In ‘74 they did every show, met up with Seokmin in LA and Mingyu was third wheel for a while, Jaehyun and Seokmin caught up in that almost soulmate way they got when they were together. Like they could spend days in a shitty hotel room just soaking each other in. And they did.

( _“Wonwoo is here,” Seokmin had said in their cramped hotel room. “That means Junhui is here. And that means —”_

_“I know what it means,” Mingyu said, cutting him off. “It’s a big city. Aren’t we following the band, anyway? We’re here for six days and then we’re heading to San Francisco.”_

_“Are you avoiding him?” Seokmin asked. He was always perceptive at the worst times. “Did something happen in the last century I should know about?”_ )

And then the tour was cut short. Mingyu meets Minghao’s eyes and wonders what parts he cares about, really. 

“We weren’t here very long either time,” Mingyu starts. He sighs. “I had to keep them out of trouble. You know how they can be.”

In ‘77 it was the same song and dance, only Mingyu and Jaehyun had moved to New York the year before. What did Minghao want to know? That the sex was decent and Jaehyun was obsessed with this pretentious dick of a songwriter that Mingyu was pretty sure was so far in the closet he would never come out? That they met Seokmin and Mingyu fucked him on the beach, half angry and half tender? That they went to Circus after the show and Mingyu saw Minghao there, radiant in the disco lights, that he left before he got the nerve to say anything?

“You’ve always worn the same cologne. How is that?” Mingyu asks suddenly. Minghao meets his eyes with a frown. “Since always. How is that? Do you make it yourself?”

For a long time he’s quiet, but then Minghao gives him one of his rare smiles. Soft and fond and incredibly in love. Mingyu can count them on both hands. That’s how few of them he’s gotten in their centuries together. 

“I only wear cologne for business, Mingyu,” he says. His hand trails down Mingyu’s chest, disappearing under the sheet. “Are you saying that you can recognize me by scent? You’d know me by the way my feet strike the earth?”

“I guess I am,” Mingyu says, breath hitching as Minghao’s hand wraps around him.

In life. In death. Always.

✿✿✿

The night after they move into the mansion, they hit the strip. It’s the most fun Mingyu has had in ages.

It starts innocently enough. Minghao bites into Mingyu’s wrist under the pulsing disco lights, drinking long and deep, lips stained red when he pulls back. He wants to kiss it away, lick him clean and then drink him down, blood so intermingled they are the same, no start or end. 

They are very nearly escorted out of the club when Mingyu forgets himself, says fuck it and straddles Minghao on a wooden chair and grinds their bodies together. (Later, he will remember that this is where he lost his shirt, when Minghao slipped his hands under his suit jacket and ripped the fabric right off his body, hips canting up like they’re fucking for real.) 

The crowd gasps and groans in equal measure but Mingyu is too far gone to care. It’s easy to get drunk on the way Minghao looks at him, the way his body feels beneath him. He loses himself in Minghao’s dark eyes, the pink stain on his lips, hands roaming over his skin edging on desperate. That’s always how things are between them. Hot and desperate, forbidden.

Jaehyun is the one to haul them apart just as security makes their way through the sea of bodies, grinning wickedly at their flushed faces. There is still a spot of blood at the corner of Minghao’s mouth, and Mingyu licks it away in the alley outside, body burning. He almost drops to his knees right there. He can see it play out in his head like a movie. Jaehyun’s put upon sigh, the taste of Minghao’s cock in his mouth, the tight grip of his hand in his hair. Immortality makes you brave, sometimes. If anyone were to walk by and see them, what could they do? Nothing, Mingyu thinks dizzily. He looks into Minghao’s eyes and knows that he knows, but he tugs Mingyu out of the alley by his wrist and Mingyu wills away his erection. For now.

They meet a girl. Mingyu never bothered to learn her name. She’s beautiful, long dark hair and eyes so green they can’t be real. She spends most of the night worming her way to Minghao’s side. Mingyu is dressed in a teal suit, no shirt underneath. Minghao is dressed in a bright red suit in another one of those god awful patterns he makes look beautiful. He keeps meeting Mingyu’s eyes over the woman’s head, like a secret. 

She wrangles them into a picture, holds out her polaroid to some man on the street. She stands between Jaehyun and Minghao, staring at him instead of the man holding the camera. Just as the man counts down Minghao puts his hand on Mingyu’s jaw. A statement. A click, a flash, and before the woman can take the photo as her own Minghao plucks it from her hand and slips it into his breast pocket. She makes a face, exaggerated frown, but she stays with them as they make their way to another casino.

Later that night Minghao drives into the desert, just the two of them. They leave Jaehyun in charge of getting the woman back to her hotel. There is nothing around them but sand and stars. They watch the lunar eclipse and Minghao presses his body into the sand, kisses him and strips him and takes him and it’s like they are the only two people left in the entire world. 

“Want you,” Minghao growls into his neck. Mingyu shudders and nods. Minghao is on top of him, haloed by a sea of stars. It’s the most breathtaking thing he has ever seen. 

“ _Please_ ,” he whispers. It’s loaded. He is always afraid of asking Minghao for too much, even here. Even in this. Minghao nods like he knows, and thrusts into him faster. 

When Mingyu comes it is with teeth set in Minghao’s neck, muffling the _I love you_ that threatens to spill from his lips. There are many times he’s said it over the centuries. He always means it, even when it’s the wrong time, the wrong place.

Mingyu remembers the hotel in Vegas, the polaroids littering the bed. He remembers the compound, settling in, distributing tasks. BamBam heads the operation with Minghao. They intercept blood en route to the hospital, the plastic bags easier to store (and drink from, too). The front they are given is some kind of investment company, and they launder Yixing’s money. The blood, of course, is all them, and in a few weeks they’ve got a wine cellar with more blood than they could drink. 

The downside is that even with preservatives, blood doesn’t last very long. Forty five days, a little over a month. They are constantly refreshing their supply, swapping their older blood for fresh from the refrigerated trucks they hold up on back roads. For a while Jaehyun works in the blood bank of the largest hospital in Vegas. Night shift, because it’s easier to swap their stash that way. Less eyes means less chance of getting caught. 

Yixing comes by the compound once. He makes all the hairs rise on the back of Mingyu’s neck. He is tall and slim and imposing. A man used to getting exactly what he wants. He looks at their large computers, their televisions blasting news from Wall Street, but there’s something in the way he furrows his brow. He’s not happy about something. 

“Things are going well?” he asks. The disbelief is clear in his tone.

Minghao nods. “Very well, sir. We even have a few businesses using us legitimately.”

That catches Yixing’s attention. “Oh? Show me.”

Minghao leads him into their front office. Yoohyeon has graciously taken the role of secretary for their business (even though she died on a battlefield before Mingyu was even born, ripped a spear out of her stomach and screamed with such ferocity legends are still passed down about her), and her filing system is neat enough it takes her a blink to produce the records for Minghao to show Yixing.

Yixing leaves with a deep frown on his face and a simple, _I’ll be back soon_. Minghao doesn’t seem worried, but Mingyu knows the way suspicion shines in the eyes, crows feet in the smile.

The problem is they aren’t local businesses at all. It’s Seungcheol’s entertainment empire back in Seoul and Bang Chan’s own investment company in Australia. They’ve been doing this for centuries, fronts on top of fronts. It’s always worked out fine, and Minghao is probably right to be as relaxed as he is.

Mingyu just can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong, this time. 

✿✿✿

Mingyu and Junhui are on guard duty. Junhui on the left, Mingyu on the right. The desert sun beats down, relentless. They could spend a century here and Mingyu doesn’t think he’ll be used to it. Things are quiet. They always are, their cover and remote location means someone would have to be very interested in them to seek them out. By that point, Wonwoo would be all over them, threat eliminated before it ever had the chance to knock on their door. 

“I think Wonwoo is in love with me,” Junhui says suddenly. He runs his fingers through his hair and turns to look at Mingyu. 

“Haven’t you two been together this whole time?” Mingyu asks. “Since...god, I don’t even remember when I heard you two found each other.”

“On a train from Omaha to Denver.” Junhui smiles and turns back to the front. “We found each other completely by chance. Isn’t that how we always find each other? Like fate.” 

The sunlight glitters off his skin and he is _beautiful_. Sometimes Mingyu wonders if they were all this beautiful before, or if something about the change enhances them. Maybe he’ll ask Minghao some day.

“A long time, then. Weren’t you in Denver for like twenty years?”

“But he never said he was in love with me.” Junhui sighs. “Is it because we’ve lived so long that we think things can be understood without words? He holds me when I sleep and kisses me when I wake and he has never said those words to me.”

 _Never?_ Even Mingyu has told Minghao, stumbled over the words in Seoul, growled into his ear in Paris. He should say them more, but he’s afraid of being wrong. Maybe Wonwoo is, too.

It’s funny what time steals from you when you look back. Mingyu can remember the entire floor plan of the compound like he is standing in it, but he can’t remember the moment things went wrong. He opens his mouth to say something to Junhui, and then he stops.

It’s not the sound of a gun, not the scent of gunpowder that alerts them. It’s the smell of blood, thick and heavy inside the house, that has Mingyu throwing the door open in a cold sweat. 

“Who’s inside?” Mingyu asks. They follow the scent through the main entrance and into the kitchen. The scent is stronger here, gunpowder sharp in the air. 

Junhui’s eyes are so dark they look black. His fangs glint in the afternoon sun.

“Minghao.”

They take the stairs three at a time. Mingyu is thankful they don’t have to fight over who goes down first, the stairs easily wide enough for two men. At the bottom is a man, his body half out the tiny window near the ceiling of the cellar. It’s the only unguarded area in the entire compound. Junhui makes it to him in a blink, pulls him back through and slams him into the concrete. There is a sickening crack when he lands, and he screams, blood and bone visible through his dark pants.

It’s then that the two of them notice Minghao in a pool of blood on the floor. He’s littered in bullet holes, three in a cluster above his navel, three scattered here and there along his chest and shoulders. His eyes are closed, but he’s still breathing.

They need to question the man before he passes out. It’s more important, but Mingyu rushes over to Minghao anyway, hands hovering over the wounds.

“Snuck up on me,” Minghao says. He laughs and it’s choked off when he spits out a mouthful of blood. “It’s Yixing. I know it is.”

“It’s okay. We’ll make him talk. We’ll make him pay.” Mingyu’s voice shakes. This is far from the first time any of them have been injured. He shouldn’t be so worried. They’re immortal, after all, but maybe it’s that this is supposed to be permanent, that violence found them in their home. 

Minghao gasps, his blood pooling all around them. They’re due for another blood run. BamBam and Yibo are a few hours from returning with fresh supplies. There is nothing in the cellar suitable for consumption, the few remaining bags of blood so dark they’re almost black. 

Mingyu hasn’t felt this sick since he died, panic nearly suffocating. They have to do something. Minghao has to drink or he’s going to die. The man who broke into their home picks up the gun lightning fast and aims for Minghao’s head. Junhui makes a distinctly animal sound and steps on his leg. The man screams, but he doesn’t drop the gun. One, two. Junhui reaches down and tears the man’s throat out. The man hits the ground in a pool of his own blood, and the silence in the wake of violence is deafening.

Shit. _Shit shit shit_. 

Minghao squeezes his hand. Junhui walks over, steps staggered. He lands on his knees on the other side of Minghao. 

Mingyu holds his own wrist to his mouth and slides his fangs across. A line of blood wells up and drips to the floor. He holds it out to Minghao.

“Take it,” Mingyu says. “There’s nothing else. Just take it.”

Take me, he says without saying. _Choose me_.

“Junhui,” Minghao grits out. It’s a stab to his most vital parts. Mingyu moves his wrist away, ready to watch Minghao take what he needs from Junhui, but Minghao reaches out and grips him tight. “Check the house. Please. Lock it down. Kill anyone you don’t know.”

Junhui is pale but he nods, rising to his feet and walking to the stairs without a word. He glances back just once, eyes hovering on Minghao before meeting his own. _Take care of him_ , he says, like Mingyu wouldn't give every second of his immortal life to fix this. 

Junhui disappears up the stairs and Minghao turns back to him. His eyes bore into him, cold and hot at the same time. He brings Mingyu’s wrist to his mouth and drinks.

His fangs break the skin around the cut. Mingyu hisses but he doesn’t pull away. Minghao’s eyes flutter closed, hands tightening as blood flows into him. It’s a quiet affair. Mingyu can hear Junhui above them, footsteps loud because if anyone is up there they will not make it out alive. They don’t show it off very much, but they can move faster than light, can lift a car with one hand. There’s a loud clatter as bullets fall from Minghao’s skin and hit the concrete. One, two, three.

Minghao drinks and Mingyu keeps wondering how he didn’t see this coming. He did, in some ways. Yixing’s clearly unhappy face when he left was a red flag, not an _if_ but a _when_. The man died before he could talk but Mingyu knows this was Yixing’s work. The blood around Minghao’s body has started to dry, tacky when he shifts and moves closer to Mingyu. I’m sorry, he wants to say. I love you. 

There is a fine line between not enough and too much in anything that matters. In love. In blood. Mingyu is hit with a wave of dizziness, his peripheral vision going dark and static, but he doesn’t tell Minghao to stop. Minghao’s eyes are closed, and each pull from his wrist is heavy. 

“Minghao,” he breathes, slouching forward until his head meets Minghao’s shoulder. It’s healed now, thank god, no hitch of breath at the contact. 

Minghao’s mouth finally leaves his wrist. He presses a wet kiss to his temple. Mingyu can smell his own blood, hot and metallic. They’re both breathing hard.

“It almost doesn’t hurt anymore,” Minghao says, a grin in his voice. Mingyu shakes away the sluggish beat of his own heart, the way his vision spins when he looks up to meet Minghao’s eyes. 

They’re brown tinged red, the clay earth of a battle fought nearly a millennium ago. He’s beautiful. 

“You’re beautiful,” Mingyu whispers. If these are his last words he doesn’t regret them, only that he didn’t spend every second saying them.

Minghao reaches out, hands on either side of his face, and pulls him into a kiss. The tinge of blood makes him shiver. God, he should really find something to eat. The problem is he can only focus on Minghao, the taste of him, the faint sound of his heart beating. 

“ _My golden muse_ ,” Minghao says in a language he hasn’t heard in four hundred years. “ _My sun. My everything._ ” 

Mingyu buries his face in Minghao’s chest and breathes. By the time BamBam shows up his wrist is healed. Their van was ambushed and the supply run was cut short. There’s only half their usual stash in the basement. 

There are still three bullets inside of Minghao. Mingyu is so dizzy he can barely stand but they are alive. Minghao is alive.

✿✿✿

It takes another two days and more blood than they can really afford for Minghao to heal completely. Mingyu doesn’t leave Minghao’s bedroom (later, he will wish he had. Maybe if he had been paying more attention he could have kept things from ending up the way they did. The thing about immortality is that there’s always a next time, but never a chance to fix that one thing, that one moment). He holds Minghao’s hand and he prays to every god he has ever known the name of. 

Mingyu wakes up with a start on the second day to find Minghao sitting up in bed, staring at the place where they touch. Mingyu’s hand covers his, armor and shield the way he has always tried to be. Minghao’s hair is sticking up all over the place. His clothes are wrinkled and he’s still got dried blood on his skin.

“How are you feeling?” Mingyu asks, coughing at the dryness in his throat. Minghao’s eyes find his. 

“You saved my life,” he says, a fact with a question hidden in the silence that follows. What now?

Mingyu takes his hand off Minghao and scrubs at his face.

“It’s nothing,” he says. _What else was I supposed to do_ , he thinks but doesn’t say. 

Minghao shakes his head. There’s a look in his eyes Mingyu can’t place, one that Minghao seems to have often when looking at him. 

“It’s not nothing.”

Mingyu lets an easy silence roll over them. He should tell everyone that Minghao is better. Junhui, especially. He moves to stand and Minghao stretches with a soft, contented sound. 

“Don’t leave yet,” Minghao says. “Not yet.”

Minghao slides out of bed and puts a hand on his shoulder like he needs something steady to hold on to. Mingyu’s hands find his waist without thinking, an automatic response. 

Minghao has the confidence of someone who has lived for millennia. Something unshakable, even after such a close call. The hands on Mingyu’s shoulders are warm and sure when they loop around his neck. He thinks about the yacht, about tugging Minghao into a dance in Paris, how everything always, always narrows down to the distance between them, the lack of it. How even after all this time he has never loved anyone the way he loves Minghao.

Minghao takes his hand and tugs him toward the bathroom. It’s how they always are. Tugs and pulls and demands. Tenderness hidden, visible only in the way they come back to each other over and over. Mingyu’s hands are shaky when he helps Minghao out of his clothes. The wounds are closed, nothing but soft pink scars in their wake. He wonders how long it will take them to fade away. 

Minghao lets the water run until the bathroom is full of steam. He brushes his teeth and then does it again, steps into the shower and holds out his hand for Mingyu, pupils wide and dark.

“Please,” he says.

As if Mingyu would ever say no.

When they’re both clean Mingyu picks Minghao up and kisses him, shivers when Minghao wraps his legs around his waist. He walks them dripping wet to the bed. It’s so easy to let Minghao push him down against the sheets, easier still to tangle his hands in Minghao’s wet hair and shove his tongue into his mouth. His fangs are sharp, and Mingyu has done this enough to avoid them expertly. But he doesn’t want to, this time. Blood fills their mouths and Minghao groans, knees squeezing his hips. 

Minghao’s palms are hot on his chest, nails dragging along the skin. Mingyu breaks the kiss and hisses, pleasure molten from his chest down to his groin. 

“I want you,” Minghao pants. His eyes are brown ringed in red, blood clinging to the corner of his mouth. Mingyu reaches up and smears the drop across his bottom lip, eyes dark.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Please.”

Mingyu lets his hand fall to the bed as Minghao slides between his legs, hand wrapping around his cock as he licks the blood from his lips. He’s been aching since they got out of the shower. Everything about Minghao is intoxicating. Watching water trail down his lithe body, the sound of his voice, the feel of him, warm and solid where they touch. His hand is sure and his pace is measured and Mingyu sighs as he cants his hips against Minghao’s hand. 

“Missed me?” Minghao asks. If Mingyu were with anyone else he’d roll his eyes. The answer hardly needs to be spoken out loud. 

Mingyu nods. (Later, he will think about Junhui’s words, about saying the things that he means. Later, he will wish he’d just said it. I always miss you. Always want you. Always, always you.)

Minghao smirks and reaches between the mattress. Mingyu can remember the first time they ever did this, how Minghao kept a vial of oil in a small leather pouch, more precious than jade. How he pressed into Mingyu so slowly they were both shaking by the end of it. Here and now, Minghao slicks up two fingers with a plastic tub of vaseline and slams them inside of him, hand tightening around his cock. He knows how to get under Mingyu’s skin, what he likes, what he craves more than anything. 

Mingyu gasps around a moan, hips jerking as Minghao’s fingers work inside of him. 

“I missed you, too. Even when I slept. Even while I dreamed of you I still missed you,” he says, a grit to his voice. Immortality means expertise, and Minghao is nothing if not a scholar of Mingyu’s body. His fingers find his prostate easily, pressing against it until Mingyu almost whimpers, pleasure crackling down his spine. Minghao’s bottom lip is between his teeth, eyes dark as he stares down at him. 

He adds a third finger, slick and easy. Mingyu rocks down against his hand, eyelids fluttering.

“So good,” Mingyu says, “You’re always so good.”

“I bet you say that to everyone,” Minghao says. When Mingyu opens his eyes it’s to Minghao’s exasperated but fond smile. Orgasm sneaks up on him so fast he only keeps it at bay by sheer force of will. He reaches out and halts Minghao’s hand on his cock. The look in his eyes is hungry again, wolf to pray, hunter to hunted. 

“Only you,” Mingyu says. “I’m ready. _Please_.”

Minghao’s fingers slip out and he slicks himself up all at once, practiced. Sometimes it makes Mingyu dizzy to think about how many centuries they’ve been doing this (how many centuries Minghao did this before him). He wraps Mingyu’s leg around his waist and eases in.

The intensity of it takes his breath away every time. Minghao above him, Minghao inside of him, Minghao tugging on his hair, angling their mouths together in a searing kiss. He licks the taste of his own blood from Minghao’s mouth and groans, shivering against him. He wants the blood, wants to shred his lips on Minghao’s fangs. He wants Minghao, more than anything.

Minghao eases out then back in, slow and easy. Mingyu feels like he’s laying in the desert sun, slowly burning with desire. Minghao moans into his mouth and Mingyu swallows the sound greedily. He winds his arms around Minghao’s neck and holds him close. Like this, his cock drags against Minghao’s stomach, a delicious friction. It takes Minghao no time at all to put constant pressure on his prostate with each thrust. Their bodies are slick with water and sweat and Mingyu breaks their kiss just so he can look up at Minghao.

“You’re beautiful,” Minghao says, breathless. “My golden muse.”

“I love you,” Mingyu says helplessly, rushed, like he can’t live with the words inside of him anymore. 

Minghao doesn’t answer in kind, but he does slam inside of him and kiss him again. It feels like love. It always does. And Mingyu will take anything Minghao is willing to give him. 

He arches into Minghao’s body, rolls his hips down and he’s close, desperate to come. He works against Minghao faster, lets him swallow his needy moans until he drags his nails down Minghao’s back and comes between their bodies with a gasp. 

“Yes,” Minghao grits out. “ _God_.”

He slams into him faster. Mingyu borders on oversensitive in the best way, his body trembling with aftershocks.

“Minghao,” he says, their eyes locked. 

When he comes, Minghao sinks his fangs into Mingyu’s neck, shuddering as he empties into him. Mingyu feels like he’s floating, endorphins and the pleasure pain of getting bitten mixing together like a second orgasm.

Mingyu runs his hand through Minghao’s hair. Minghao hums around a mouthful of blood, lips stained when he finally pulls back. 

“I feel alive again,” Minghao says. He’s almost grinning. Mingyu wants to bury his face in Minghao’s neck and breathe him in. So he does, flips them both on their sides and breathes in the scent that’s just Minghao. Something a little like home. 

Minghao pulls out and kisses him almost reverently. You should always be kissed like this, it says. Tender and simple and true. 

The hours pass with the two of them in bed. Mingyu doesn’t count them, doesn’t really care what might be happening outside the room even though he should. When Wonwoo finally comes in, Minghao’s head is on his chest. The look on his face is almost fond.

“Glad to see you’re okay,” he says. His eyes flick up to Mingyu and his smirk is as infuriating as it always is. “Things are almost back to normal. We haven’t had any more suspicious men wander onto the property. Yoohyeon has been on the roof every night.”

Minghao huffs a laugh and sits up, stretching his arms over his head. The sheets pool around his waist but Wonwoo doesn’t pay it any mind. 

“Have you heard from Yixing?” Minghao asks. Wonwoo shakes his head and Minghao clicks his tongue. “I figured as much. It’s no matter. We’re going to keep doing what we came here to do until we can’t anymore.”

Wonwoo hums. “I knew you’d say that. I’ll let everyone know you’ll be back to work tomorrow.”

He shuts the door without saying anything else. Minghao and Wonwoo have this infuriatingly good relationship that has always made Mingyu feel like he’s swallowing glass. Always on the outside looking in even though it’s far removed from the truth. 

Minghao looks up at him and snorts. Mingyu frowns.

“What?” he asks.

“You’re painfully easy to read. Do you know that?” Minghao presses a kiss to his mouth, short but still enough to send a thrill down his spine. “I’m okay. We’re okay. If Yixing knows what we are and wants us to leave then all the better. He can’t take us on and win. We both know that.”

And what if he can? Mingyu thinks, curling his arm around Minghao’s waist. Bullets hurt, and they can die from blood loss if they aren’t careful. They’re strong and they’re fast but in the face of the mafia’s finest Mingyu isn’t sure they will make it out unscathed. 

Mingyu has lost a lot of things in his life. His parents. His sister. The little village he was born in is gone now, not even a historical marker to remind him of its location. He has lost countless lovers and friends. Maybe it’s the hot desert sun, or the glittering Vegas lights. Golden days feel finite here. Like staring down something inevitable. Mingyu wonders if this is what it feels like to die.

✿✿✿

In the movies, it’s always something like this that’s the climax. Blood money in the literal sense. The guy gets the girl and the guy gets shot and then the guy loses everything because crime doesn’t pay or some shit like that. The lucky thing about immortality is that it’s not a movie at all. There’s no girl and there’s no losing because they can always start again. 

It’s maybe a month after Minghao is shot that the front door disintegrates in a hail of bullets.

Minghao’s words echo in his mind. _I think we can finally have something permanent_. What a fucking joke. If Mingyu has learned anything, it’s that immortality means trading permanence. Get busy living or get busy dying, except they can’t really do either. 

The details have blurred over the years. Yixing is shot but he lives, and Mingyu spends about a decade making his life as hard as he possibly can. He calls in every favor, makes friends with an up and coming detective named Miyeon and feeds her every ounce of information he has on Yixing and his outfit. She becomes the first female sergeant and Yixing’s entire inner circle is serving twenty to life. It doesn’t really make up for the scars Minghao carried around for months, but it’s the best he can do.

Junhui, well, he’s not the same after everything. He starts draining people. Bodies litter the streets and the only way to keep him safe is to take him out of the country. Junhui goes to China and Minghao is the one to take him there. It’s not like Mingyu couldn’t have followed them. It was something about the way Junhui and Minghao looked at each other. They are a mountain, unshakable and immovable in the way they love each other. Immortality means trading permanence but they are branded into each other in a way that Mingyu can never hope to compare. They’ve been together longer than Mingyu has been what he is, and he doesn’t want to put himself in a position to get hurt. 

Against his better judgment, Mingyu spends a decade in New York with Wonwoo. Things are nice at first, good in the way they always are when they’re together after a long time apart. Wonwoo kisses him like he means it, spends days and months swallowing Mingyu’s cock and fucking him until the headboard cracks. They get bad in the same way they always do, too. Time is funny that way. You love and hate someone in equal parts, and no matter how much you wish they would change they are always the same. 

By 1990 Mingyu finds himself in Los Angeles. He hates the heat at first, dry but oppressively hot in the summer. People flock to the city with big dreams and are swept away in a whirlwind of reality. He puts up posters advertising freelance photography. Technology changes every day, and Mingyu has always been fascinated with pictures. Their permanence, and how easily the sun, the low flame of a candle, can take it away. He keeps it up for fifteen years, but closes the small business after that. Too many people will ask questions. Too many people have seen his face.

There is a box of photographs Mingyu isn’t supposed to have anymore tucked neatly on the bottom shelf of his bookcase. Some mornings, when the ache in his chest threatens to swallow him alive, he opens it. 

This morning, he leaves the box on his coffee table and goes for a swim. 

It’s not like he’s expecting anyone. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/woncheoling) // [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/tsukkitaeil)


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